The Mask
by DoctorH
Summary: Number Six meets a man in the Village, an undercover operative with whom he'd worked five years earlier. This mysterious and ingenious fellow has an escape plan, and he needs Number Six's assistance. Number Six, naturally, has to wonder whether his new acquaintance is truly a prisoner, as he seems to be, or whether he is actually working for Number Two.
1. A Meeting at Breakfast

**THE MASK**

**Chapter 1: A Meeting at Breakfast**

"This morning promises to be lovely," crooned the announcer, "although you may want to carry an umbrella. Light showers are possible in the afternoon."

As the morning truly was as lovely as promised, Number Six decided not to have his breakfast in his flat. He strolled over to the Village restaurant and seated himself at an empty table. Moments later, a waitress bid him good morning, and presented him with a covered platter and tea. She lifted the cover to reveal two eggs, sunny side up, toast with butter and orange marmalade, and a still-sizzling breakfast sausage.

Number Six had not ordered any of it; yet this was precisely the breakfast that he wanted. He thanked the waitress and took up his napkin, ready to tuck in.

"May I join you?"

Number Six looked up to see a man standing next to his table. The man was tall and muscular, with thinning black-and-grey hair. Number Six could not remember ever seeing this man in the Village before this moment. And yet, he looked familiar somehow...

As Number Six pondered his response, the stranger pulled a chair from the table, with the evident intent of seating himself in it. "I should like to talk with you," continued the stranger, "but perhaps you would prefer some privacy this morning?"

Number Six gestured for the stranger to be seated. "Privacy is hard to come by, in this place," Number Six remarked.

The man sat and slid his chair close to the table. Number Six saw that the man wore a badge bearing the number seventy-seven. "I take it that you mean," said Number Seventy-Seven politely, "that we are at risk of being listened to and watched. Including right now."

"Yes." Number Six helped himself to toast.

"Then I shall be careful not to say anything that those listening and watching do not already know. And I fully expect that you will do the same."

The waitress appeared and placed a bowl of fresh fruit in front of Number Seventy-Seven, along with a glass of what appeared to be orange juice. Number Seventy-Seven thanked the waitress, and she departed as quickly as she had appeared.

Number Six deadpanned, "Those that are listening and watching already know a great deal about us, don't they?"

"They do, indeed," said Number Seventy-Seven, as he popped a grape into his mouth. "But knowing our favourite breakfast fare is not enough. They always want to know more, don't they?

"They do seem to be most interested in additional information, yes."

"Which I have no intention of giving to them." Number Seventy-Seven speared a banana slice with his fork. "And I assume that you are of a similar intent." Number Seventy-Seven slipped the banana slice into his mouth.

"You might say so."

Number Seventy-Seven noticed that Number Six seemed to have stopped eating, in spite of having barely touched his breakfast.

"You don't trust me," Number Seventy-Seven remarked with some amusement.

"You read my mind," quipped Number Six with a wry smile.

"I don't blame you. I don't know whether this will set you at ease or not, but: whatever information they want from you, I have no interest in it whatsoever. None at all. Indeed, I must _insist_ that you _not_ tell it to me."

Number Six thought what he had just heard was patently ridiculous, but he kept his countenance. "You needn't worry about that."

Number Seventy-Seven looked Number Six in the eye. "You're wondering what game I'm playing at."

"You read my mind again," said Number Six, this time with much less of a smile.

"I am playing no game, my dear fellow; although perhaps I ought to take some offense that you do not recognize me."

Number Six was momentarily taken aback. He had thought he might have known his man from somewhere; but from where? He decided to be direct. "You're right, I don't recognize you. How do we know each other?"

"When we last spoke, I had more hair here." Number Seventy-Seven pointed to the top of his head. "And more hair here as well." Number Seventy-Seven wiped an index finger across his upper lip.

Number Six studied Number Seventy-Seven's face. "You wore a mustache?"

"Back then, I did, yes."

Number Six still could not place him.

"I believe my hair colour may also have been somewhat darker," continued Number Seventy-Seven, "when we were working together in Jamaica."

Number Six knew he had just been handed a significant hint, but he still did not recognize the man right away.

Then, abruptly, the pieces fell into line. "You're Benton?" Number Six hazarded.

Number Seventy-Seven seemed pleased. "Yes. You knew me as Benton then. But I haven't gone by that name for many years now."

"Benton is not your real name, then?"

"It is not. And I suppose that the names by which I knew you were not _your_ real name, either. As I recall, many of your aliases tended to be rather pedestrian, weren't they? And you did seem to favour the five-letter names, didn't you? Smith, Jones, Brown, and the like. Although in Jamaica, you were known as Frost."

"Frost, yes." Number Six picked up his fork and used it to cut off a piece of his sausage. "Jamaica, good heavens. I haven't thought about that, er, adventure in quite a while. That was, what? Five years ago? We were _very lucky_ to escape with our lives."

"That we were. We had a little help with our breakout, but it was nevertheless a hair-raising getaway, wasn't it? We made quite a few enemies in Jamaica, we did. Including the entire Kingston police force, as I recall."

"Yes. And now we're here, wherever this is. I take it that you have just recently arrived at this— this charming place." Number Six popped the piece of sausage into his mouth.

Number Seventy-Seven was chewing on a small slice of apple. After swallowing, he smiled and said, "Oh, no. I arrived here about two months before you did."

Number Six stopped chewing his sausage. It took him a few moments before he could speak. "Are you serious?"

"I most certainly am."

Number Six stared at Number Seventy-Seven.

Number Seventy-Seven stared right back, and said, "You are now wondering why I waited so long to introduce myself to you."

"You are really quite adept at reading my mind, aren't you?" Number Six spoke with an unmistakable note of irritation.

"I don't read minds, my dear fellow," said Number Seventy-Seven in quiet earnest. "Reading minds is an impossibility. So rather, I study. I observe. I deduce. And I make educated guesses. And the reason I waited all these months is quite simple. I was not certain that you were who and what you purport to be."

"I beg your pardon?"

Number Seventy-Seven picked up a small piece of pineapple with his fork. "As you are no doubt aware, there are at least four kinds of people in this Village. There are the _prisoners_, like you and me. There are _screws_, as I call them, like Number Two and that gang. There are those that are _staff, _and the staff are neutral players, more or less. The staff do much of the work around here, and they are not compelled to be here, but are here by _choice_. They remain because their lives here are more pleasant than their lives were before they came."

"I'm fascinated," Number Six said in a tone that suggested otherwise. "And the fourth category of individuals here would be...?"

"The _masks. _That is what I call them. The masks are the people who appear to be one thing, but are really another. A typical mask is a person that _seems_ to be a prisoner, but is actually working for Number Two. You see, for some time, I was not clear whether you were a prisoner or a mask." Number Seventy-Seven placed the pineapple in his mouth and chewed. "Do you know one thing I miss about Jamaica? The pineapple. It was fresh and tasted wonderful. The pineapple they serve here is rubbish."

"I take it, then," Number Six spoke evenly, "that you are now satisfied that I am what I _purport_ to be?"

"Yes. I am."

The men sat in silence for several seconds, each man picking at his breakfast. Number Six broke the silence. "I have met some others here who have known me for my previous work."

"Such as Cobb, and Greenwood, and Dutton?"

Number Six tried to hide his surprise that the man across the table from him would know these men. "Yes."

"I hope you did not trust them."

"Why?"

"I believed them to be masks. Or, to be more precise about it, I was never able to satisfy myself that they were _not_ masks."

"It doesn't matter. They're all dead, now."

"Are they? What if I were to tell you that I saw Cobb, alive and well, _after_ his funeral?"

Number Six had no reply.

Number Seventy-Seven sighed. "Forgive me for 'reading your mind' again, but you are now wondering about _me_, whether _I_ am a mask or not. As well you _should_ be wondering such a thing. And you may also have a growing curiosity as to _how_ I was able to authenticate you, and determine that you truly were a prisoner, and not a mask."

"Satisfy my curiosity, if you please."

"I'm afraid that, with all of the eyes and ears observing us at the moment," Number Seventy-Seven drawled, "that I cannot share _all_ of the details of my methods at this time. But my basic process is as I have described it already: I study, I observe, I deduce, I make educated guesses. As you have yourself noted, these techniques can make it appear as though I can perform the impossible."

The men sat in silence again. Though one of his eggs was untouched, Number Six seemed to be finished with his breakfast. Number Seventy-Seven was chasing after some blueberries with a spoon. Again Number Six broke the silence. "What does all your studying, observing, guessing, and deducing tell you about this place? Where are we? And of more interest is: Who is in charge?"

"I suspect you could make some educated guesses on your own, my dear fellow. For example, the people you've met in the Village: where do they come from?"

"They don't say."

"Ah, but they do! They _do_ say, with every word they utter. Take you, for example. I know you have been all over the globe, but your manner of speaking tells me that you grew up in Ireland and northern England."

Number Six could not help himself. His eyes widened in amazement. He was quite certain that he had never shared any details of his early personal life with the man he had known as Benton.

"Perhaps you have seen _Pygmalion,_" continued Number Seventy-Seven, "by Bernard Shaw? Or the musical version of the story starring that lovely Audrey Hepburn? Well, the character of Higgins has the capability of identifying where people come from, based upon how they speak. And that is an _authentic_ capability that nearly anyone can learn. All one needs is practice. And as you no doubt have observed, most of the people here in the Village come from _England_."

Number Six nodded, for it was true.

Number Seventy-Seven carried on: "Oh, there are a few Scots about, some Irish, some Welsh, a Frenchman or two; I've also met a few from Italy, Germany, Romania, Russia, Poland, at least one Spaniard, and at least one fellow from Australia. But most of the people, whether prisoners or masks or screws or staff, are English. And of those that are English, the majority are from London. Oh, there are a few from Manchester, Leicester, Southampton, Liverpool... but most are from London."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," said Number Six. "You study: you learn the manners of speech of people from different parts of the world. You observe: you listen to how people speak. You deduce: based upon how people speak, you know from whence they came."

"More or less, that's correct."

"And you're making an educated guess that this Village is run by the English? It is run by _our_ side?"

"No, I am not quite ready to say that," Number Seventy-Seven raised his hand. "There are indications the other way, indications that suggest that those on 'our side' are not running this place."

"Indications, such as?" Number Six pressed.

Number Seventy-Seven took a moment. "You have, no doubt, seen the automated sentry they have here."

"Rover, yes. I have."

"It doesn't look like much, but it is a formidable piece of technology, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. I would. Surprisingly formidable."

"Have you ever seen anything like it in England?"

"No. But I have never seen anything like it _anywhere_."

"Now just consider this for a moment: if 'our side' had this formidable piece of technology at their disposal, do you think they would _limit_ its use _solely_ to _this_ place?"

Number Six pondered this. "I see your point. But perhaps our little Village is merely a proving ground, a test site for this new 'formidable piece of technology.' Perhaps, after working out all of the kinks here, it will be introduced elsewhere, to keep the general population in line."

"To keep the _general population_ in line?" Number Seventy-Seven repeated, then whistled softly through his teeth. "Actually, I was thinking that if 'our side' had Rovers, they might be deployed at secured facilities, military bases, that sort of thing. I hadn't given much thought to letting one of these things loose in a major city. Imagine one of these devices patrolling around London. Now _that_ is quite a sobering thought, isn't it?"

"It is indeed."

"More tea, sir?" The waitress momentarily startled Number Six, who had not seen her approach the table.

"Thank you, no," replied Number Six.

"May I get you gentlemen anything further?" the waitress smiled pleasantly.

"Thank you, no," repeated Number Six.

Number Seventy-Seven returned the waitress's smile. "Nothing for me, love, thanks. Say! What made you decide to leave the beautiful city of Leeds to come here?"

The waitress could not conceal her surprise. "Who told you I came from Leeds?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd heard someone mention it. The pay is better here, I take it, than in the city where you grew up?"

The waitress smiled uncomfortably. "And the weather is nicer as well."

Number Seventy-Seven handed the waitress a card, which she declined to take. "Oh, sir, breakfast for the two of you has already been settled. There is no further cost."

"May I inquire," said Number Six suspiciously, "as to _who_ has paid for our breakfast?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir. All I know is that nothing further is owing." With that, she gathered some dishes from the table and departed.

"Here's an educated guess," smirked Number Seventy-Seven. "We have provided enough entertainment this morning for Number Two, that he has decided to treat us to breakfast."

"I would make precisely the same guess. Too bad we are finished here, and will not have the opportunity to discuss our escape plans. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"I wonder whether our current Number Two will appreciate your sense of humour," Number Seventy-Seven remarked. He rose, and Number Six followed suit. Number Seventy-Seven extended his right hand. "It has been a pleasure catching up with you, my dear fellow. Be well."

Number Six shook Number Seventy-Seven's hand. "Be seeing you."

Number Seventy-Seven turned and walked away. Number Six decided to watch Number Seventy-Seven, to see where in the Village he lived; but within a matter of seconds, Number Seventy-Seven had disappeared from Number Six's view, and Number Six could not reacquire him.

Number Six smirked, and left the restaurant.

Upon returning to his flat, Number Six casually walked into his bathroom and, after dropping his trousers, sat upon the loo. He had no need to use the loo; he merely wanted a small measure of privacy, and this was one place in his flat where he was fairly confident that the spying cameras could not see him. As long as he didn't spend too much time here, no one would be suspicious.

When Number Seventy-Seven had shaken his hand, Number Seventy-Seven had pressed something into Number Six's palm. Number Six had kept his cool, for he was instantly reminded that one of Benton's skills was sleight-of-hand and that he was an accomplished pickpocket. Number Six continued palming whatever it was that Number Seventy-Seven had so skillfully slipped into his hand. Now by himself and with no one watching, Number Six opened his right hand.

He found a small square of folded paper. The paper was flesh-coloured, making it less likely to be spotted inadvertently. Number Seventy-Seven had slipped him the square so smoothly that it would have been nearly impossible to observe, and the colour of the paper would make it even more difficult for anyone watching to see the item. Number Six wondered where Number Seventy-Seven had acquired the coloured paper.

Number Six opened the paper. Inside was written a message that included a modest hand-drawn map, with a time and the word, "Tonight." Number Six committed the message to memory, then shredded the paper, tossed the pieces into the loo, and flushed.


	2. An Escape Plan

**Chapter 2: An Escape Plan**

The sun had set. The thin crescent moon, just past new, would be setting in less than an hour. The mostly cloudy sky made things darker still.

Number Six, dressed in dark clothing and avoiding open spaces, cautiously made his way down to the waterfront. He saw no one, heard no one. There was not a single indication that anyone knew he was out of his flat.

He carefully and quietly sidled up to the place that Number Seventy-Seven had specified. It was largely hidden from view, and there were no places to put cameras or microphones. It was a perfect place to talk in hushed tones without being overheard. The darkness gave added cover.

Number Seventy-Seven was not there.

Number Six crouched and waited. He estimated that he had reached the meeting place two or three minutes early, and so it was not necessarily a warning sign that Number Seventy-Seven was not there to meet him.

Number Six was still uncertain whether Number Seventy-Seven was on the up-and-up. He might be, to use his own terminology, a "mask"; but Number Six thought further inquiry was warranted. He and the man he'd known as Benton had risked their lives together in Jamaica, and Benton had even saved his life. The two of them would never have eluded the Kingston police and escaped from Jamaica without Benton's ingenuity and resourcefulness. It was difficult to imagine Benton— that is, Number Seventy-Seven— as an enemy. Besides, Number Six would be on his guard, and he would never, _never_ give up his information. He knew how it would work: Number Seventy-Seven might tell him a story, any story at all, and the story might be so reasonable, so logical, so compelling, so convincing— and all Number Six would have to do is explain why he resigned...

Number Six had long ago decided that, no matter what tale he was told, he would hold his secrets.

Number Six huffed. Where was Number Seventy-Seven, anyway?

"Everything is fine, I assume, with you," crooned Number Seventy-Seven softly from the shadows.

Number Six was startled. He saw a shadow sway ten feet away.

Because of his state of surprise, Number Six was unsure as to what he was being told. He whispered, "I beg your pardon, what did you say?"

"I said, 'Everthing is fine,' my dear fellow. I was not certain I would see you tonight. But as you are now here, I assume that everything is fine."

"How long have you been there, waiting for me?"

"Not long. Did anyone see you come here?"

"I don't think so."

"Good," whispered Number Seventy-Seven, as he moved closer. "But I think we may not have much time tonight. So let's get to it. I have two escape plans. Are you interested?"

"I'm listening."

Number Seventy-Seven spoke softly but quickly. "I think I only have time to explain one of my plans, so I'll explain the better of the two."

"Go on."

"We need to wait for a day when there is heavy fog and preferably a low tide. When such a day comes, we need to move quickly. We need a raft, a sail, two paddles, and provisions. If the tide is low, we can proceed by foot to just north of the point, and put the raft into the water. If the day is foggy, it will be difficult to see us, and just as important, difficult to track us. We paddle out to sea, and it will be necessary that both of us will be paddling. Once well out of view of the Village, we put up the sail. After a few days, we ought to enter the shipping lanes."

"Where do we get these things, the raft, the sail, and so forth?"

"I already have the raft and the paddles. They are well-hidden and are readily available to us. I have also managed a water purifier and some packaged food. I haven't yet obtained a sail, but I ought to have one within two or three days. And you, my dear fellow, will need to collect provisions, such as first aid supplies, things to ensure our survival, a signalling device if you can obtain one. I will try to scrounge fishing supplies, a few other things we'll need. We can expect to be at sea for at least five days, maybe two weeks, maybe longer."

"How about a compass?"

"I already have one. I don't know our longitude, but our latitude is quite a bit further south than England. If we are in the Atlantic, as seems likely, proceeding in a generally easterly course will bring us closer to the coastal shipping routes."

"Ah. And I take it that our goal is to get picked up by a commercial vessel," commented Number Six.

"Correct. A vessel not under the control of, nor affiliated with, the Village or any government."

"After we get picked up, then what?"

Number Seventy-Seven snickered. "We improvise. We're good at that. But we'll be _away from here_, which is, of course, the main objective."

"I see."

"What do you think? Are you on board with the plan?"

Number Six did not answer right away. "I don't know what to say."

"Say 'yes,' my dear fellow."

"Yes. Yes."

"Splendid. Now, we need to get back to our flats. Don't rush back, but don't dawdle, either."

"Just curious, old boy," whispered Number Six as he plotted his return path. "Where is your flat, anyway?"

"White building off to the left, hard to see in this light. Most of the residents in my building are staff. My flat's not nearly as large and luxurious as yours."

"How will I make contact with you, or you with me?"

"In the same way we made contact this morning. We speak openly. But we know the screws are listening, so we watch what we say. But if we are careful, we can surreptitiously communicate with one another, like we did this morning. You know how to do that."

"Yes," agreed Number Six. "I can do that."

"The coast is clear, my dear fellow. Let's go."

Number Six and Number Seventy-Seven stealthily made their way from the waterfront to the grassy lawns and toward their flats. They moved silently and cautiously, side-by-side.

Number Six froze when he heard a distant squealing noise. He remained still until he was satisfied that he'd heard something ordinary, perhaps a bird, and not something more sinister. He turned to signal Number Seventy-Seven that he was proceeding, but Number Seventy-Seven was not there. Number Six looked around, but could see no one in the darkness.

Number Six returned to his flat. He quickly looked over the premises. Everything was as he had left it. There was no overt indication from the condition of his flat that anyone knew he had ventured out in the darkness. And there was no indication that anyone was aware that he had spoken clandestinely with Number Seventy-Seven.

But Number Six had good reason to believe that someone did know that very thing.


	3. A Plan Refined

**Chapter 3: A Plan Refined**

The next morning, Number Six took his breakfast at the restaurant. He expected that Number Seventy-Seven might join him at breakfast, but he did not.

Number Six decided to take a walk. The weather was clear and the tide was going out, and Number Six wondered where might be the best place to put a raft into the water, if one were to go forward with such a plan. Perhaps if he got to some higher ground, he might have a better view of the landscape and he thus might have a better idea about whether Number Seventy-Seven's stated plan was feasible, and if it was, what might be its chances of success.

There was a knoll that offered a good view of the water. Number Six climbed the stone stairs to the knoll and gazed out at the geography. After studying the scene for about five minutes, he concluded that the plan set forth by Number Seventy-Seven was indeed plausible. The plan was obviously risky, but it might have a decent chance of success.

Number Six knew that Number Two would naturally be aware that Number Six was standing atop the knoll, surveying the landscape, undoubtedly with the intention of plotting an escape; but Number Six took some comfort in the notion that Number Two could not know Number Six's true intentions.

As he descended the steps from the knoll, a band began to play in the courtyard below. "Ten o'clock," muttered Number Six, for that was the scheduled time that the band was to begin playing. It was to be a practice, not a performance, and band practices were sometimes brief and sometimes lengthy. Number Six decided to find a place to sit and listen. The musicians were usually quite good, after all.

"So, what did you think of what I pitched to you?" Number Seventy-Seven had somehow sidled up to Number Six without his being aware. "Everything is fine, yes? I saw you having a look at the area in question. What's your impression?"

Though mildly startled by Number Seventy-Seven's abrupt appearance, Number Six behaved as though he was unfazed. "Could be done," he said simply, "with the right equipment."

"I'm delighted to hear you say that." Number Seventy-Seven put his hand on Number Six's shoulder and steered him leftward. "Let's bear to the left, so that we can speak a little more while the band is playing."

"Of course." Number Six understood the strategy right away: while the band was playing, it would in all likelihood be difficult for Number Two to listen to their conversation, and they could for a short time have confidence that they could discuss escape, without fear of being overheard. Through his surveillance cameras, Number Two could certainly see Number Seventy-Seven talking to Number Six, but Number Two would be most curious to know what was being said.

"You need to make or acquire some signalling apparatus," instructed Number Seventy-Seven. "Flags. Flares. Spotlights. Anything that can attract the attention of a passing ship during the day or night."

"I am already working on that," lied Number Six.

"Splendid. Also, if we have to catch our own meals out there on the sea, we made need something we can use as bait."

"I'll see what I can find."

"I did some quick arithmetic and found that, the two of us working together, we ought to be able to carry the raft, and oars, and sail, and about twenty pounds of provisions, each. Keep that weight limit in mind."

Number Six smiled subtly. "You've really thought this out, haven't you?"

"I've tried to, yes."

At that moment, the band stopped playing, and a small audience of listeners applauded politely. Number Six and Number Seventy-Seven stopped talking. Abruptly, Number Seventy-Seven clapped Number Six on the shoulder and said, "Ta-ta!" With that, Number Seventy-Seven walked away, ducked behind a hedge, and was gone.

Number Six remained. He watched the band. The musicians were milling about, giving no indication that they were going to perform any other musical compositions.

"It would seem that band practice is over," Number Six muttered to himself. He ambled back to his flat.

Once in his flat, he made his way to the loo, and as soon as he closed the door, he began to search his pockets. He found what he had been looking for in a matter of seconds. Inside one of his jacket pockets was a folded piece of paper.

In the course of their brief meeting, the men had not shaken hands; but Number Six supposed that Number Seventy-Seven had slipped him another written message somehow. His supposition turned out to be correct. Number Six could not remember Number Seventy-Seven ever reaching inside the jacket at any time. But that's what good pickpockets do, Number Six reminded himself: they obtain access to your pockets without your being aware. And, as he had demonstrated in Jamaica, Number Seventy-Seven was a very skilled pickpocket indeed, although this morning he used his skills to plant rather than to pick.

Number Six carefully and quietly unfolded the paper.

Like Number Seventy-Seven's previous written message, the current message identified a time and a place, below which was written the word, "Tonight." There was also a small hand-drawn map showing the best route to take to get to the place, and pointing out various landmarks to be avoided. Also included were instructions which, if followed, would supposedly allow Number Six to leave and reenter his flat without being detected.

Number Six committed the message to memory, then destroyed it.

That evening, he followed the instructions to the letter, slipping out of his flat and making his way, slowly and carefully, to the meeting place. The meeting place was in a wooded area near the northern edge of the Village.

Number Six estimated that he arrived at the meeting site about five minutes early. He found Number Seventy-Seven already there. The two men crouched down next to a rock outcropping.

"Jolly good to see you," whispered Number Seventy-Seven.

Number Six whispered back, "Are you _certain_? Are you certain that _this time_ it's jolly good?"

"Quite certain. It's jolly good. No one is listening to us."

"Earlier today you told me that _everything is fine_."

"That's because they _were_ listening to us. They heard _everything_ we said, even over the noise of the band. I'm glad you remembered our code words from so long ago, and the ways we would tip each other that we were under surveillance, and that 'everything is fine' means that we have to speak as though they could hear every word we say."

"And 'jolly good' means 'all clear.' And at the waterfront last night: you told me that everything was fine. You're certain they were listening to us _then_, as well?"

"Yes, very certain. You did a very nice job of playing along, by the way."

"I just followed your lead," Number Six hissed. "So: now Number Two thinks we're planning to use a raft to escape during a heavy fog. That's the plan we discussed at the waterfront, and it's the plan we talked about while the band was playing. I take it that we aren't actually going to do that."

"We aren't going to do that, because we _can't_ do that. There _is no hidden raft_, for one thing. But Number Two thinks there is a raft, because he thinks we didn't know we were being listened to."

"So, do you have a real plan?" Number Six pressed.

"I do. As I mentioned at the waterfront, I had devised two plans, and that was true. What was untrue was that escape-by-raft is the plan I'd chosen to implement. I actually have a different plan that is better. Do you remember how I said that tracking us in a heavy fog would be hard for the screws to do? Well, that is true. My better plan requires us to wait for a very foggy morning."

"If we're not going to escape by sea," Number Six whispered, "then presumably your plan is to escape by air or by land."

"By land," confirmed Number Seventy-Seven. "I have an escape path through the mountains to the northeast."

"I've tried going overland. It didn't work."

"Did you try it during a heavy fog?"

"Well, no. But I learned that there are barriers, cameras, tripwires, alarms, probably hidden traps as well. We would be detected. And then Rover would be upon us."

"Fog is the key," whispered Number Seventy-Seven urgently. "Yes, we would almost certainly be detected, but Number Two would not activate Rover."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"For one thing, I've seen with my own eyes that Rover can have great difficulty tracking escapees in a heavy fog. And for another, Number Two won't know that anyone is escaping through the mountains. Would it surprise you to learn, my dear fellow, that there is some wildlife in these mountains? The wildlife trips the alarms almost every day. That's a lot of false alarms. So Number Two has learned not to presume that an alarm means that there is an escape. He demands visual confirmation before deciding that the alarm is valid."

With that, Number Six understood the brilliance of Number Seventy-Seven's plan. "And the heavy fog prevents visual confirmation!"

"Exactly. It buys us time."

"And if Number Two thinks we plan to escape _by sea_ in the fog," Number Six added breathlessly, "he will be looking for us in the wrong place."

"Yes. He will deploy additional measures when there is fog, but he is unlikely to deploy them in such a way as to block an escape through the mountains. He will expect us to go in the way _opposite_ that we intend to go."

"It is a brilliant plan," Number Six whispered, "though I think I see a flaw in it."

Number Seventy-Seven suddenly became very concerned. "Good heavens, _what_ flaw?"

"We don't know how far the mountains extend or what lies beyond. We may escape, yet find ourselves in a worse state than we were before."

"Ah. Actually, my dear fellow, I _do_ know how far the mountains go, and what lies beyond them. There is an _installation_ of a sort, a warehouse, with a pier for supply ships, and a pad for a helicopter, and a landing strip for jets and prop airplanes. When people come or go to this, er, resort, that is where they obtain transportation to Great Britain or the continent. Shipments of supplies for the Village come through that installation as well."

"How do you know? How do you know that there's a warehouse and a landing strip and a pier?"

"Because I've seen them. Some months ago, I tried to make an escape in heavy fog. I eventually found that installation. And I found out something else, as well. The facilities are well-guarded. One man would have a difficult time neutralizing the guards without raising an alarm, but two men might have a much better chance."

"So, once we get to this installation, and take down the guards, then what? We steal an aircraft or a boat?"

"Yes. Most preferable would be to steal a plane. Commandeering a helicopter would be our next best option."

Number Six nodded. He knew such a plan would have drawbacks, but Number Six decided not to mention them. Instead, he asked, "How long does it take to get there by foot?"

"About ninety minutes, if we know where we're going; and I do. We will have to carry some things with us, but not nearly as much as we'd have to carry to escape by raft. So we ought to be able to move fairly quickly. There is one thing that—" Number Seventy-Seven stopped. He twisted his head to the left, then whispered, "Did you hear anything just now, my dear fellow?"

Number Six held his breath and listened. "No," he replied in a hushed voice. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Number Seventy-Seven waited for several seconds before speaking again. "We have to get back to our flats. Go back the way you came. Take your time, but try to keep moving."

"All right.

"Oh, and one last thing," whispered Number Seventy-Seven. "I do not know how many more opportunities we will have to discuss this plan without fear of being overheard. We are about to enter a season in which there are likely to be more foggy mornings. We may have to make a break for it on very short notice."

"I see."

"We'll have to find a way to talk about final details some other time. Now get going."

Number Six quietly started padding back the way he'd come. After taking about twenty paces, he looked back at the outcropping. Number Seventy-Seven was nowhere in sight. Number Six continued quietly on his way, stopping only once, when he thought he'd heard voices.

He made it back to his flat. He discreetly checked his person for hidden messages, and on this occasion, he found none.


	4. Foggy Morning

**Chapter 4: Foggy Morning**

Over the next four days, Number Seventy-Seven met with Number Six openly on two occasions. They made small talk, and intentionally said things that anyone listening might deem to be suspicious. Number Seventy-Seven casually asked, for example, if Number Six knew how to swim. And Number Six remarked that it seemed that the wind from the west had been more brisk in recent days. Otherwise, their conversations were banal.

Yet after each conversation, Number Six checked his person for hidden notes, and found them. The first explained a signal system by which Number Seventy-Seven would inform Number Six that foggy conditions may be right for an escape. The second included a small list of required provisions, along with some directions for evading detection as they made their way to the mountains. Number Six memorized the notes, then destroyed them.

Three mornings later, Number Six awoke to find a foggy morning. A wave of worry washed over him. Had he missed the signal? Was Number Seventy-Seven waiting for him? Number Six dressed quickly, and upon exiting his flat, found Number Seventy-Seven, who it would seem was just happening to be walking by.

"Good morning!" Number Seventy-Seven greeted Number Six with pleasant humour. "Would you care to join me for breakfast? A bit of a foggy morning this morning, isn't it? Well, I hear that this fog will be gone very soon."

And indeed, as Number Six and Number Seventy-Seven ate their breakfasts, the fog dissipated.

Number Six understood; there could be no escape with this fog because it afforded insufficient cover. They would have to wait for another, _foggier_, morning.

Three days later, Number Six was awoken in the very early hours by the sound of a branch brushing one of his windows. He jolted out of bed and peered through the window. It was dark. The glow from nearby outdoor lights was almost totally obscured. A very faint grey glow in the east suggested that sunrise would soon occur.

Outside was a heavy fog.

Number Six tapped his window. He tapped softly, his five taps forming a short, yet distinctive pattern.

Three raps by someone outside acknowledged his taps.

_The escape was on._

Number Six dressed rapidly. He collected a few provisions that he had cached in his kitchen, then exited his flat.

It was hard to see. Number Six followed the prescribed paths, working his way northeast. He hoped he was alert enough not to lose his way; it would be impossible to use the buildings of the Village to reorient himself, for he simply could not see them. He breathed a sigh of relief when he came to a small stone arch; this meant he was on the correct path and heading in the correct direction.

Number Six proceeded onward along the path. He froze when he fancied he heard footsteps.

There came a whisper from the gloom. "It's Benton; and you must be Frost?"

"Yes."

"Jolly good. I'll go first, you follow me. Move quietly, but quickly. If you must speak, whisper. In about half an hour or so, we will be able to speak normally."

"Right, I will follow you," whispered Number Six. "Just out of curiosity, how do you know which way

to go?"

"I know the path, and I have my compass. Let's move."

And move they did. Number Seventy-Seven set a fairly brisk pace, and Number Six had to make an effort to keep up. The dark grey of the fog was changing to a lighter shade of grey, but it was still hard to see. If Number Six lost Number Seventy-Seven, requiring him might be a difficult thing to do.

As Number Six followed Number Seventy-Seven around a tree, his foot snagged on something, and he fell on his face. "Blast!" whispered Number Six.

Number Seventy-Seven stopped. "What's the problem?"

"I tripped over something. A tree root, something. No, wait. Good heavens, it's a tripwire! I have undoubtedly set off an alarm!"

"Get up, keep moving!" urged Number Seventy-Seven in a low tone. "The screws can't get visual confirmation, it's still too foggy. As far as they know, an animal tripped on the thing. But we have to go!"

They continued moving. Number Six listened for footsteps, or voices, or the distinctive roar of the automated sentry system; but he heard nothing.

Number Seventy-Seven led along a pathway that was wide at times, narrow at others, and that seemed to disappear completely in some places. Very little of the path seemed to be on level ground; Number Six got the impression that he was on a cycle of perpetual climbing and descent. Number Six also got the distinct impression that they were moving in a constant direction and that they were not veering or circling.

Although he could not see the sun, the uniform light grey of the fog indicated that the sun was up by now. Also, it seemed to Number Six that the fog might he getting thinner, just a little bit. He whispered, "How much further?"

"Hard to say," replied Number Seventy-Seven in a soft, yet normal tone of voice. "We ought to be at the installation in half an hour, maybe. Give or take ten minutes. How are you faring?"

"Fine. Can we discontinue whispering now?"

"Yes. Keep your voice low, but you don't have to whisper. When we get closer to the installation, we will have to resume hushed speech."

"Of course."

Number Seventy-Seven asked, "Do you need to take a rest? I know I could use one."

"I would not mind sitting for a while, if we can afford the time," replied Number Six.

"We can afford the time, yes."

Number Seventy-Seven sat on a fallen tree, and Number Six sat beside him. Number Seventy-Seven produced a tin of biscuits, and Number Six pulled a bottle of water from his provisions. Then men quietly shared water and biscuits.

"I'm curious about something, my dear fellow," Number Seventy-Seven confessed. "I'm curious what _sort_ of information Number Two wanted from you. I repeat what I told you earlier: I do not want to know your actual secrets. But I am curious as to what _sort_ of information he wanted from you."

Number Six answered coyly. "Perhaps he wanted the same sort of information from me as he wanted from you."

"Doubtful," chuckled Number Seventy-Seven, "since I don't know _what_ the screws wanted from me. Oh, I know they were interested in some of the details of my past work, and perhaps my future projects as well; but I'm at a loss as to which details were truly of interest to them. Whenever they've interrogated me, they always seemed to know more about my past projects than I did. They seemed to know all about things I did in South Africa, Northern Ireland, Jamaica, even a little job I did in Canada. They seemed to want me to _confirm_ what they already knew. I told them nothing, of course."

"But I'll make an educated guess that you seriously _considered_ cooperating," mused Number Six. "That's their plan, isn't it? To get you to think that, if they _already_ know everything, why should you bother to keep secrets?"

"Exactly! Exactly! Why _not_ confirm everything? They know it all anyway, and if I play along, then maybe they'll let me go home! The psychological influence they apply is quite strong. But by applying psychological pressure in that fashion, they kept me somewhat in the dark as to what information they _actually_ wanted. Have they used the same technique with you as well?"

"No. In my case, their techniques have been more conventional, and fall just short of actual torture. I've been drugged, hypnotized, conditioned, tricked, disoriented, seduced, bribed, and threatened."

"Are the screws interested in your past work? Or your future work?"

"There will be no future work for me. In fact, I'm not in that line of work anymore. I resigned."

"_You did_?" sputtered Number Seventy-Seven. "Good heavens, man, _why did you do that!?"_

Number Six smiled and remained mute.

"Ah, I see," drawled Number Seventy-Seven after about ten seconds. "I'll wager _that's_ what they want to know. Well, I can certainly understand their curiosity, as I'm rather curious _myself_ as to your motives. But I say once again, _do not tell me. I don't really want to know._"

"The fog seems to be getting thinner," observed Number Six. "Perhaps we ought to get moving again."

The men resumed their journey. There was no question about it, the fog was dissipating; that is, the fog was becoming less dense near the ground. Number Six could see significantly further ahead, although when he looked up, the treetops were just barely visible.

The men froze when they heard a disturbing sound. It was a helicopter. They couldn't see it clearly, but it sounded as though it were passing overhead.

Number Six whispered to Number Seventy-Seven: "Looking for us, do you think?"

"Possibly, but I doubt they could spot us. Listen, it's going past us." The pitch of the helicopter noise dropped as it flew past. The men caught brief glimpses of the craft through a break in the fog. It seemed to be descending. Number Seventy-Seven smiled. "It's landing. Well! That tells us two important things, doesn't it?"

"And those two things are?"

"First, we're getting close to the installation, aren't we? That's where that helicopter must be landing, and it landed not too far away. Secondly, the fog must be nearly gone over the installation, so that they can see where to land. That's good news for us."

"Good news, why?"

"Because, my dear fellow, if we commandeer that helicopter, we won't have to contend with the fog. Let's get going. The helicopter might not be on the ground for a very long time. Let's catch it, if we can."

The men proceeded. They could hear the helicopter rotors turning, but the low pitch indicated that the craft was still on the ground.

The fog seemed to be getting thinner with each passing minute. Presently, a building appeared out of the haze, a warehouse of some kind. "There it is!" whispered Number Seventy-Seven.

The men crept closer. Near the warehouse was a helicopter, with its rotors turning. As they moved closer, the pitch of the rotors abruptly rose.

"Blast, they're taking off!" fumed Number Six. "We're too late!"

Moments later, the helicopter lifted gracefully into the air, and turned away. In a matter of seconds, it was gone, the noise of its blades gradually fading.

"I don't think our luck is totally bad," whispered Number Seventy-Seven. "Look over to the left. I could do without the helicopter; I'd much prefer _that _form of transport, wouldn't you?"

About two hundred meters away sat a small cargo jet. There appeared to be a movable staircase up against the jet.

Number Six grinned. "I would indeed prefer that! Faster, greater range. That jet could certainly take us all the way to London, if that's where we wanted to go."

Number Seventy-Seven nodded. "London would be fine by me."

Two shadowy figures seemed to be casually patrolling around the staircase. Presently two other shadowy figures approached. After being checked by the patrolling shadowy figures, the newcomers were permitted to climb the stairs and enter the aircraft.

"Pilots!" hissed Number Seventy-Seven. "With the fog lifting, they must be getting ready to depart! Let's get aboard that plane!"

"There are just two problems," whispered Number Six. "One is, there seems to be a pair of guards."

"Indeed. But we can deal with them, you and I. What's the second problem?"

"I don't know how to fly a jet. Do you?"

"No. But the pilots do. We'll engage their cooperation."

Number Seventy-Seven then proposed a plan to Number Six. It sounded like a very good plan. Number Six proposed one modification to the plan, and Number Seventy-Seven accepted that proposal without argument.

They then set out to execute the plan.


	5. Revelation

**Chapter 5: Revelation**

They crept closer to the jet. There were two sentries standing guard by the steps leading to an open hatch near the rear of the aircraft. They were talking and laughing, seemingly unaware that they were being stalked.

Number Six took the guard on the left, Number Seventy-Seven took the guard on the right. With silence and efficiency, they rendered the guards unconscious. Number Six and Number Seventy-Seven dragged the sentries' limp bodies to a ditch away from the jet.

"Your educated guess was right; my fellow was armed," announced Number Six, as he pulled a pistol from the guard's body. Number Six examined his pistol quickly. It was the real thing, and it was loaded.

Number Seventy-Seven took up a pistol as well. "So was mine. Let's go!"

Number Seventy-Seven and Number Six charged to the jet, bounded up the steps, and ducked into the hatch. They quickly made their way toward the front of the jet, between dozens of crates stacked on each side of the centre aisle.

They found a pilot and a copilot in the cockpit, going over a checklist.

His newfound pistol at the ready, Number Six said, "Now, you two be good chaps, and not make trouble for us, right?"

The startled pilot and copilot turned, and when they saw pistols pointed at them, raised their hands. "Wh— who the devil are you?"

"We are your passengers," replied Number Seventy-Seven. "And we are most anxious to get to London. Please make all preparations to get underway, won't you?"

The pilot and copilot exchanged frightened looks, then the pilot spoke to the copilot. "Close the hatch, Gerry. Let's get ready for takeoff."

"I'll be watching you, Gerry," warned Number Seventy-Seven. "Please don't do anything foolish."

The copilot and Number Seventy-Seven made their way to the rear of the aircraft, leaving Number Six with the pilot.

"How soon can you take off?" Number Six inquired.

"Alm— almost immediately. As soon as we taxi to the runway. But sir, you mentioned taking you to London? We cannot do that, sir."

"Why the devil not?"

"We've been _warned_, sir, and warned in the most serious fashion, not to deviate from our proper course, sir. Our next destination will not take us in the direction of London, sir."

"What is your next destination?"

"Na— Nassau, sir, in the Bahamas. We have cargo to drop off there, sir, as well as cargo to pick up."

The copilot and Number Seventy-Seven returned. The copilot took his seat and donned his headphones. "Hatch closed and secured," announced Number Seventy-Seven. "So let's get going, shall we?"

The pilot nodded. There was a slight lurch as the aircraft began to roll.

"We seem to have another problem," grumbled Number Six. "They won't fly us to London."

"Oh?" Number Seventy-Seven leveled his pistol at the pilot's head. "You won't fly us to London, eh? Let us discuss that."

"It's— it's not a question of _won't_, sir," sputtered the pilot. "It's a question of _can't_. A course change of that kind would be noticed immediately, sir."

"I know from experience," said Number Six, "that they have ways of stopping aircraft that do not fly where they're supposed to fly. Unless we can get away from here without making it look like an unauthorized flight, well, let's just say I don't fancy our chances."

"Well, where is this plane supposed to fly? Someplace else in Europe?"

The pilot gulped. "To the Car— the Caribbean, sir."

"Nassau," Number Six clarified.

Number Seventy-Seven cursed under his breath, then abruptly ordered, "Get this plane in the air. It looks like we're heading to the Caribbean, then."

"Nassau is going to make things difficult," Number Six remarked. "We will be arriving there with no credentials, no identification, and worst of all, _no money_. We may be stuck in the Bahamas for a very, _very_ long time. At least, if we were going to London, there would be people I could call who would help us."

The copilot suddenly spoke: "Captain, X-Ray wants to know why we're moving."

The pilot responded: "Tell them that we think there's enough of a break in the fog, and that we're behind schedule as it is."

"But, Captain," protested the copilot.

"Just tell them!"

The copilot did as he was instructed. A few seconds later, he addressed the pilot. "X-Ray says go ahead, Captain."

"Would that all airfields be that accommodating," the pilot said dryly.

"Tell me something," Number Seventy-Seven said to the pilot. "We're in the East Atlantic, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir, east side of the Atlantic Ocean."

"We need to fly across the ocean to get to the Bahamas?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could we fly _in the direction_ of the Bahamas, and then, when we're about ninety minutes out, turn south and make for Kingston, Jamaica?"

Number Six clenched his jaw.

The pilot hemmed and hawed: "Well, sir, that's not— that's not our—"

"Could you do it? Would you have enough fuel? Would you be able to navigate to Kingston?"

"Yes, sir, I— I— I could do it."

"Then that is what we are going to do. By the time anyone realizes we've changed destinations, it will be too late to stop us."

Number Six could not keep his peace. "Bad idea!" he snarled.

Number Seventy-Seven seemed to be surprised by Number Six's reaction. "A bad idea, why?"

"In addition to the aforementioned practical hardships— we have no papers and no money— there is one other difficulty we face in Jamaica. We are both _wanted men_!"

"That was five years ago!"

"But I would wager the Jamaicans would still remember! Do you fancy being stuck in a Jamaican jail cell? I do not!"

"But I know someone in Jamaica who can fix things for us. Just as there are people you could call in London, I have someone I can call in Kingston. He's extremely resourceful. He'd get us everything we need."

"Even if he is able to help _you_, he might not be inclined to help _me_."

"Oh, he ought to. He knows you. And you know him. Do you remember Fisher, the photographer, the artist?"

"Fisher: was he that very annoying little man with the glasses?"

"Yes."

"The pest who kept trying to hawk his amateur paintings and whose photography studio could have been mistaken for a disaster area?"

"Yes, that's the fellow. He was my contact; quite a brilliant chap. In Jamaica, he's the one who got me everything I needed. He's the one who arranged for our escapes from the country. If there's anyone who can fix things for us, Fisher can."

The pilot turned around. "Did you hear that, sir?"

Number Two's voice answered. "I most certainly did. You may stop the aircraft, Captain."

Number Seventy-Seven and Number Six turned to see Number Two walking toward them, wearing a satisfied grin. Two armed men followed, and as they reached the cockpit, the two armed men flanked Number Two.

The aircraft came to a gentle halt. Its engines started to wind down.

"You may drop your weapons, gentlemen," Number Two advised pleasantly. "They are not functional firearms."

Number Six let his pistol fall to the floor with a thud. Number Seventy-Seven held on to his.

"So, it was _Fisher_," said Number Two. "The bespectacled photographer and artist from Kingston who was your contact in Jamaica. I must say, his cover was outstanding. He has my respect and admiration."

Number Seventy-Seven raised his pistol, pointed it at the ceiling of the aircraft, and pulled the trigger. The pistol clicked harmlessly. Number Seventy-Seven held out the useless pistol to Number Two, who took it.

"You have my respect and admiration as well, Number Seventy-Seven," Number Two continued. "Your escape-by-raft misdirection was most convincing. Did you know that when the fog rolled in this morning, I devoted two-thirds of our resources to monitoring your escape by water? _Not to stop you_, but rather, to make sure your raft escape would be a _success_! Oh, it was all arranged. The two of you'd be at sea for, oh, three days, then you'd get picked up by a cargo vessel on its way to the Caribbean. Of course, when I realized that you weren't really planning to escape by sea, I alerted the other possible places you might try to go. It didn't matter which escape plan you had; you'd succeed, and you'd be sent to the Caribbean, and naturally, you'd need to seek help from your contact in Jamaica."

Number Seventy-Seven had gone pale. "That was the information you wanted? The identity of my contact in Jamaica?"

Number Two grinned in response, then with a gesture signaled one of his armed men to take Number Seventy-Seven away. The armed man seized Number Seventy-Seven's wrist, and pulled him.

Number Seventy-Seven offered no resistance, but as he was being led away, he pleaded with Number Two: "Don't kill Fisher. For the love of all that is holy, don't hurt him! He's a good man! He has a family! He was just _doing his job_!"

The grin was gone from Number Two's face. "I am sorry, but I can make you no promises. My role is to acquire the information; others will decide what to do with it."

With that, Number Seventy-Seven was dragged past the rows of crates— some of them now opened, Number Six noticed— and Number Seventy-Seven disappeared from view.

Number Six wondered if he would ever see the man again.

Number Two turned to Number Six. "Thank you for your assistance, Number Six. We couldn't have done it without you."

Number Six was working mightily to keep his emotions in check. "So _he_ was the target of this little operation of yours; _not I._"

"Yes. Shall we go?"

Number Two walked toward the rear of the aircraft, with Number Six following, and the armed man just behind. As they passed the opened crates, Number Six remarked, "Ah, so you were waiting for us inside these boxes. Must have been stifling." After getting no response from Number Two, Number Six added, "Although I doubt you were confined in there for very long. That was _your_ helicopter we heard arriving, wasn't it, just before we got here?"

Number Two smiled but said nothing. He reached the open rear hatch and began to make his way down the stairs. Number Six scanned the surroundings to see whether he could catch one last glimpse of Number Seventy-Seven, but he was nowhere to be seen. At the bottom of the steps, however, were the two guards that Number Seventy-Seven and Number Six had rendered unconscious.

As he passed the guards, Number Six said to them: "My apologies, chaps. It was nothing personal."

The guards said nothing.

"The helicopter will be returning presently," Number Two remarked pleasantly. "Perhaps when we get back to the Village, you will join me for luncheon?"

"I have no appetite," replied Number Six. "If I may be permitted a small observation, you must have been planning this operation for quite some time."

"Yes, we have been. The idea occurred to one of my predecessors, when he learned that the two of you had worked together quite closely in Jamaica. Do you want to know what the most difficult part of our plan was? Getting Number Seventy-Seven to _trust_ you. Once he was reasonably certain that you could be trusted, we were confident that he would approach you and seek your assistance to escape."

"He trusted me, did he? Pity. I was never quite able to put all my trust in him. I thought he might appear to be a prisoner, while he was actually doing work for you."

Number Two laughed. "So, in Number Seventy-Seven's quaint terminology, you thought he might be a '_mask_,' did you?"

"Yes."

"How odd, then, that the one who _was_ actually doing our work for us, the principal 'mask' in this operation, Number Six... _was you_."

THE END


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